


Obligations

by thesometimeswarrior



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mentor/Protégé, Post-Canon, Prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-07 18:20:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19474717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesometimeswarrior/pseuds/thesometimeswarrior
Summary: Truthfully, Laren had never expected to see Picard again. So, when, a month into her sentence, he appears in front of her holding cell—back just as straight as she remembers, uniform just as immaculate, even after four years—it’s a shock.Several years after the events ofPreemptive Strike, Picard visits Ro in prison.





	Obligations

**Author's Note:**

> This is, obviously primarily a fic from the TNG universe. I just watched DS9, so I make reference to some DS9 stuff--mainly lore around the Bajorans--but you don't need to have watched DS9 to get what's going on in this fic!
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

In the end, when Starfleet finally does catch up with her, after a raid that turned out to be a set-up, it’s the Starship Crazy Horse, not the Enterprise. 

Someone else, someone more interested aesthetics, might have regretted that, might have preferred the symmetry of the same ship from which she defected, the same Captain whom she betrayed, being the one to apprehend her. Picard might have preferred that—not that he ever would have defected in the first place. Or Macius. (Though, if she’s honest with herself, she’d only known him for a few weeks when he was murdered, didn’t _really_ know much about him at all beyond the fact he reminded her of her father, and therefore didn’t actually know what he would have wanted.) But the man she constructs when she thinks of him—a man who, she supposes, is made up mostly of imagination and nostalgia colored with a little bit of memory—is one who loves poetry as much as her former Captain did.

But Laren always had been more practical than poetic—another _gift_ of growing up in the Camps. And, practically speaking, she’s happy not to have to sit in the Enterprise’s brig. And while she’s sure that she has some acquaintances on the Crazy Horse, she has—well, _had_ —real friends on the Enterprise. Less awkward this way. And, besides, it’s better that it’s not Picard to give the order to take her into custody, to escort her to her Court Martial, and then, after, to the Stockades.

Thank the Prophets for small things. Or something like that.

* * *

Truthfully, Laren had never expected to see Picard again. So, when, a month into her sentence, he appears in front of her holding cell—back just as straight as she remembers, uniform just as immaculate, even after four years—it’s a shock. 

She raises her eyebrows as she stands to greet him. “Captain.”

“Lieutenant.”

“Just _Ro_ , now, sir.” 

“Yes.” Picard glances down. “I suppose that’s so.”

“I’d offer you a seat, but I don’t really think that’s within my power—unless you wanted to come into this cell with me.” It’s meant to be a pithy comment, something to cut the tension, the awkwardness that she suddenly feels—that’s she’s never felt with him before—but, like always, he seems to take her in earnest.

“I’m perfectly fine, thank you, Lieute—that is, _Ro_. Laren. But if you would be more comfortable, by all means, please sit.”

She does. 

“Are you being well-treated?”

“I have no reason to complain, sir—this _is_ a Federation prison.”

“And that still means something to you?”

“Compared to a Cardassian detention center?”

Something flashes in his features, then, a moment of recollection, perhaps, of her history—something she’d mentioned about the Occupation and her childhood, about her father’s death—or else, memories of his own brief stay in Cardassian custody, and the question seems to dissipate from his lips. 

“Besides,” Laren continues. “I never wanted the Federation to be my enemy. I never _considered_ the Federation my enemy. I just…couldn’t trust them to be our ally either.”

“You swore an oath.” Picard’s voice hovers just above a whisper, and if there’s a reprimand in it, it’s buried beneath layers of incredulity. 

“I know.” 

“Did it ever mean anything to you?”

She sighs. “Captain…Sir, _why_ are you here?”

“Because I wanted to be sure that you were alright, and, now having done that, I wish to understand. When we first met, you implied that you joined Starfleet as a way to escape the refugee camps, and I do not blame you. But was that all it ever was?”

“I—Sir, with all due respect, why does it matter now?”

“Because if it was, perhaps I was wrong to press you to return to Starfleet. And if I need to apologize—”

“No.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You weren’t wrong, sir.”

“Then, Laren,” He kneels to her level, and his eyes meet hers across the force-field. “Help me to _understand_.”

“Why I joined the Maquis?”

“And why you deliberately sabotaged a mission.”

So, just as Laren suspected, this is personal. Not only because, four years ago, she looked him in the eye and told him that she would carry out her orders, but also because two years before that, Picard had been the one to bring her back to Starfleet, and he’d been the one to invest and believe in her from that moment until she’d defected. 

Were it anyone else, she’d try to evade, to make some seething, sarcastic comment to mask any semblance of her sincere feelings. But, despite everything, Picard still knows her better than anyone else alive, and would see right through it. Besides, she knows from a glance just how personally he’d taken her betrayal, and, after everything he’d done for her, she at least owes him a true explanation.

She inhales, then slowly releases before answering. “You’re right that I first joined Starfleet as a way to escape the Camps. But back then, I…Did I ever tell you about my father? How he died?”

“You told me that a Cardassian tortured him to death, and made you watch.”

Laren nods. “And afterward, I was so _ashamed_. Of him. Of the Bajoran people for being so _weak_ …When we left Bajor shortly after that for the camps on Valo II, I decided that I didn’t care about them. That I wanted a ticket out.” She laughs a bitter little laugh. “You know, some people who grew up in the Diaspora snuck back to Bajor and joined the Resistance, because they cared about their compatriots and their freedom. Now there’re members of the Bajoran Milita, or the Provisional Government. Not me. No, I just cared about myself, and wanted to get ahead, escape my upbringing. The Camps taught me selfishness. So I joined Starfleet.”

“You sound as though you still judge yourself for that.”

“I don’t. Truly, I don’t. The Occupation was brutal, and that’s how I dealt with it. But my point was that I joined Starfleet for selfish reasons, and it didn’t make me any less selfish. At least not at first.”

“Does that account for the incident on Garon II?”

“Yes, I…I never wanted anyone to die. I never even wanted to disobey orders…I just…None of it mattered as much as saving my own skin. Which I did. And that was all that mattered to me…until I came aboard the Enterprise, sir.”

Picard raises an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“It is, sir. On your ship, for the first time, I managed to care about, even _prioritize_ people outside of myself. I think…I think it was because, for the first, time I was able to _trust_ the people around me. I knew they’d do the same for me, and if the need ever were to arise, they’d protect me. I felt _safe_ on the Enterprise. In a way that I’m not sure I’d ever felt safe in my life.” She pauses. “So when I encountered the Maquis, and I related to their struggle, I knew I could help them. I _wanted_ to help them. And everything you said…everything about throwing away what I’d worked for…it didn’t matter. Because I believed in what these people were doing, I believed in what they were fighting for and for the first time, I was able to prioritize something beyond me. To me, it wasn't throwing away what I'd worked for; it was the _pinnacle_ of what I'd worked for.” Laren sighs. “I know you think what I did was wrong, sir. But I don’t regret it. I’d do it again. The only thing I _do_ regret—deeply—is betraying you after all you’d done for me.” 

Picard considers for a silent moment, and Laren holds her breath. When her Captain speaks again, his voice is soft, serious. “You’re correct that I disagree with your actions and with those of the Maquis. And if I had been the one to apprehend you, I would have had you Court Martialed also. But,” he pauses. “Despite that, I remain proud of you, Laren. And proud to have been your Captain.” 

He smiles, and just like that, it's as if Laren is, for the first time in years, able to exhale.

Across the force-field, she smiles too.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I love comments!


End file.
